Deep, Deep Down - FrUK
by Francis-Kirkland-Bonnefoy
Summary: My first hardcore yaoi. I wrote it a while ago. Decided to upload it. FrUK, AmeriPan later on. Sad, Fluff, Smut. Shitty summary, better story. I hope.
1. Chapter 1

Deep, Deep Down: A FrUK Fanfic

***Warning: yaoi***

England sat through the World Meeting, letting his mind(and gaze) wander over to the Frenchman sitting across from him. He blushed whenever France looked back, and quickly averted his gaze to the papers in front of him, or looked over at America and pretended to be concentrating on whatever useless nonsense he was going on about.

The meeting finally ended, and England was the first out of the door. He had to get away: from that room, from those feelings, from that damn frog, Francis. He dashed down the halls, but no matter how far he went, he could never outrun his emotions.

_Bloody hell._

He finally emerged into the fresh, sunlit air at the front of the building. He breathed it in, and slowed his pace. He heard footsteps behind him, and turned, expecting to see America hurrying after him. Rather, it was France, panting slightly from the run.

"What do you want, Frog?" England demanded, crossing his arms. France stopped, taking a moment to catch his breath.

"Zhere is somezhing zhat I need to talk to you about, _mon amour_," France explained. "In private."

England's face became bright red. "Well, out with it then."

"No, not 'ere," the Frenchman replied, grabbing England's elbow and leading him away. "Zhere are too many countries leaving zhe meeting. Zhey vill overhear us."

France led him down the pathway, turning into the building's garden, which was overflowing with flowers and plants from around the world. He stopped behind a patch of rosebushes, where no one would see them, leaning over so their faces were almost touching. England's face grew even more red, if that were even possible.

"Now, now, old chap," he said. "No need to get so close."

France didn't back away. He stared into England's dark green eyes, his own blue one's shining with concern.

"Are you okay, _mon amour_?"

"W-what?" England demanded. "O-of course I'm okay, you bloody frog!"

France sighed. "I am not so sure, _Angleterre_," he replied. "You're face been so red lately, and you seem distracted all zhe time. Are you sure zhat somezhing is not bothering you?"

England looked away. Of course something was bothering him! Every time he looked at France, his heart would beat so fast that he thought it would burst out of his chest. His face would get so red that he would have to cover it for fear of someone noticing. But he couldn't tell him that. He just couldn't.

"N-nothing's wrong, you wanker!" he shouted. "Just go away and leave me alone!"

France looked hurt for a moment before walking away. England watched him go, and immediately felt guilty. He shouldn't have lashed out at France like that. Sure, they argued all the time, but it had never felt... real. They had always been childish arguments that had never really meant anything. But now...

England shook his head. He shouldn't be concerning himself over _France_. He wasn't supposed to care about that bastard. He left the garden, repeating it over and over in his head: _I don't care, I don't care, I don't care... _

But the little twinge of regret in his stomach still remained.

France paced his bedroom, running his hands through his hair nervously. He couldn't figure out what was up with England, or why he didn't seem to be able to discuss it with him. They were friends, after all, if not for the fact that they argued a little too much. But still! Just because they fought so much didn't mean that France didn't care!

He slammed his fists against his desk angrily. What in the hell was going on with the Englishman?

Someone knocked on the door.

"Come in," France said, sitting on his desk just as that very Englishman walked into his office, his face redder than the roses that dotted his garden. "_Angleterre_!"

England wasn't meeting his eyes. "F-France..." he began. "I... I wanted to apologize for what I said earlier. It was rude and-"

He was cut off by France's arms being wrapped around him. He blushed even more. "W-what are you doing, Frog?"

"I am hugging you, duh," the Frenchman replied, pecking his friend on the cheek. "You have nozhing to be apologizing for, _mon amour_."

England stood there for a second, his head resting on France's shoulder. He felt something in his pants start to stiffen, but pulled away before France could notice. Or at least what he _thought_ was before France could notice.

"I-I've got to go, old chap," he said, turning to the door. "Just realized I might've left the stove on."

He reached for the doorknob, and France wrapped his arms around his stomach, his hands slipping up the Englishman's shirt. "Don't expect me to believe," he whispered in England's ear. "Zhat all you came for vas to apologize, _mon amour_."

England was frozen in place, his pants getting stiffer and stiffer as the moments passed by. "F-France," he managed to say. "W-what're you gettin' at?"

France's lips were close to his ear now. Far too close, his breath ruffling the sandy-blonde strands that fell past it. "Don't try to hide it," he whispered. "You're in love vith me."

Everything came crashing down on him at once. The struggle he'd gone through to hide it, the emotions he'd tried so hard to stifle. And yet, at the same time, he felt as if an enormous weight was being lifted off of his shoulders. He reached down and took France's hands in his, squeezing them gently.

He didn't need to say anything; France got the message before the words could form. He swung England around, pressing his lips to his. They wasted no time at all, stripping eachother down until they were wearing nothing but their boxers. France pinned England against the floor, sliding his tounge into the Brit's mouth.

"Rnngh," England moaned, wrapping his arms around France's neck. "Frns~"

France pulled away, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against his. "Shh, _mon amour_," he whispered, touching a finger to England's lips. "My maid vill hear you and come running."

"Does it matter?" England replied, his green eyes ablaze with lust. "Who cares if she walks in and sees us? It'll all be worth it in the end."

France smiled and continued kissing England, his lips travelng down the Brit's body and leaving tiny marks along it's length. He paused at England's underwear. His eyes met his no-longer-friend's, asking a silent question. England hesitated, swallowing nervously, and nodded. France pulled down both their boxers, turning England over so he was lying on his stomach. He positioned himself in front of the Englishman's entrance.

"Are you sure about zhis, _ma chere_?" he asked. "We don't have to go zhis far, if you don't vhant to."

England's eyes were squeezed shut. He gritted his teeth. "Do it."

France smiled and entered, slowly. Tears appeared at England's eyes. "Agh - d-damn it, France!" he moaned, his fingers digging into the shaggy carpet. France paused.

"It hurts, _oui_?" he asked. "Do you vhant me to-"

"No, you bloody idiot!" England cut him off. "Keep going!"

France obeyed, slowly at first, but getting gradually faster as England got used to him. As _he_ got used to _England. _Until, finally, they both went over the edge, soiling the carpet. France pulled out, flopping down onto the damp carpeting next to England.

"Zhat vas nice, _mon amour_," he purred, twirling England's sandy blonde hair around his finger. "Let's do it again sometime~"

England smiled, wrapping his arms around the Frenchman and leaning his head against his chest. "Yes, let's."

France and England are often caught bickering for bickering's sake. But, deep, _deep_ down, they really love each other. Sexually.

**This was the first yaoi fanfiction that I ever wrote... I was just going through my library and decided to edit this and post it here. It was actually pretty good... There's more to it, though. I just posted it on another website before. I'll post it here too, though. **

**Please review! I hope you liked it!**


	2. Chapter 2

England blinked away the grogginess, and sat up. He looked around him, and it took him a moment to realize that he had little too much_ France_ and a bit too little _clothing_.

Then he remembered. Him and France stripping eachother. France kissing him. France _inside of him_. And now France was _sleeping_ next to him, in _bed_ with him, in his bedroom. He pressed his hand to his forehead as the memories came flooding back to him. Wonderful yet sickening memories. Memories of love and pain entwining to form something sick and beautiful, like a painting of Hell done in excrutiating detail, or a poem that made even death look appealing.

England looked over at France, curled up peacefully besides him, and smiled. _If you're going to be the death of me,_ he thought. _Then that's how I want to go._

France stirred, tossing his long blonde hair out of his eyes. He smiled up at England.

"_Bonjour, ma chere_," he whispered, reaching over and entwining his fingers with the Englishman's. "You enjoyed yourself, _oui_?"

England's face turned bright red, and he was glad of the dim lighting that hid it. "Hehe, yeah, old chap. I have to admit that I enjoyed myself very much."

France sat up, wrapping his arms around England's neck from behind and whispering in his ear: "Vell, do you vhant to enjoy yourself _more, Angelterre_?"

England's eyes widened. "I-I... not right now, Love. It's a work day. And _morning_, no less."

France sighed, stretching. "Anozher day, and anozher boring meeting zhat vill get us novhere."

England laughed weakly. "Yeah," he said, getting out of bed. "I'm going to get some clothes on, Love."

France smiled at him before following him out of bed, looking around for the clothing which he'd so carelessly tossed away. England grabbed a fresh shirt and trousers, taking an extra outfit and offering it to France.

"Here, Love," he said. "Wouldn't want you to wear the same clothes as yesterday."

France shook his head, gently pushing the clothing away. "If I show up in your clothes, zhe others vill get suspicious," he explained. "Vhe agreed to keep zhis a secret, remember, _Angelterre_?"

England nodded, recalling the words they'd exchanged as they were falling asleep:

_"Let's not let the others know about this, okay Love?"_

_"But why? I want the world to know how much I love you."_

_"They'll only get in the way. I want this relationship to be just us. No nosy countries trying to interfere with whatever bullshit they'll come up with."_

_Francis had smiled and nodded. "Oui, mon chere."_

England and France got dressed and headed over to the meeting, their lips finding eachother one last time before they left. They walked there in silence, exchanging a few poorly-hidden smiles to break the foot-long distance between them, missing each other already.

When they reached the building where the meetings were held, they were the first ones there(this was normal for England, seeing as he was the one who had to draw the pictures on the blackboard). While England doodled on the board, France watched him from his seat, smiling at how careful his lover was when it came to art. That was one of the things that he found so appealing about him.

England finished his drawings long before the other countries started to arrive, and took his seat across from France. They smiled at eachother for a little while longer before the other countries started to trickle into the room. Their smiles faded, and they pretended to concentrate on the meeting at hand, knowing that, until they disbanded later in the day, they were no longer lovers, but simply comrades.

The meeting's end was _much_ too far away.

The meeting finally came to an end, and England and France practically flew out of the meeting room. Just as England was pushing through the doors, however, he heard a horrible noise coming from behind him.

"Hey, England, dude!" America called after him. "Where're you and France heading?!"

England froze, trying to quiet down the rage that was bubbling up inside of him, and slowly turned around.

_Freedom is so close_, he thought. _And then _this_ idiot has to ruin it._

"We're on our way to meet up with a friend of ours, America," he replied. "Now, if we can be on our way-"

"A friend of yours? Cool!" America continued. "Can_ I_ come?"

England glared at him. "I'd really rather you didn't-"

"Why_ not_?" Americ interupted, rather rudely, as usual. He had a hint of dissapointment in his tone. "I wanna meet your _friends_, Iggy!"

"Don't call me Iggy!" England retorted, pushing his way through the doors and into the open sunshine. "Leave us alone, America!"

"But _why_?" America whined, chasing after them. "_I_ wanna meet people!"

"Because-"

"_Because_," France cut England off, throwing him an apologetic glance. "England's meeting up vith a girl, and 'e doesn't vhant anybody to know about it."

America's blue eyes widened, and a smirk spread across his face. He put his arm over England's shoulder.

"I see, you're going to 'meet up' with your girlie-friend," he said. He raised an eyebrow at France. "Wait, why are _you_ going, then?"

France met his gaze evenly, his vein pulsing a bit at America's arm being around his _uke_'s shoulder. "She is a close friend of mine," he lied. "I vhant to make sure zhat _Angelterre_ doesn't try anyzhing vith 'er."

America narrowed his eyes at the Frenchman. "_Okay_, then," he said, clapping England on the back and turning to walk away. "See ya later, Iggy!"

"Don't call me that, you bloody wanker!" England shouted after him. Once the American was out of sight, he sighed with relief. "Thank _God_."

They continued to France's house in peace, barely acknowledging anything aside from eachother. Sometimes their hands would brush against one another, or their eyes would meet for a second too long, but that was the only contact they would allow eachother until they got home. It was excruciating.

They finally reached France's house, and England practically tackled him to the floor once the door was locked behind them.

"_Angelterre_," France whispered, pulling the Englishman closer to him, so that the only thing separating them was their clothes. "It's been too long."

_Much too long, France,_ he replied silently. "I-I just saw you this morning, Frog!"

France chuckled, pressing his nose into England's sandy-blonde hair. "Oh, I know, _mon chere_," he replied, his lips traveling down to the base of his neck. "I know."

England sighed, leaning his head back as France kissed his neck, running his tounge along his skin. The Brit let out a small moan, and France grinned.

"You want to take zhis upstairs, _oui_?" he asked, his soft blue eyes gazing into England's deep green ones. The Englishman nodded seductively, and France's fingers entwined with his, leading him up the stairs and into his bedroom. He locked the door behind him, and England pressed his lips to his once again. His tounge brushed against France's bottom lip, requesting entrance, which was immediately granted. France smiled, gripping his lover's waist. England pressed him gently against the wall, deepening his kiss and wrapping his tounge around France's. The Frenchman's hands slid down to the loops of England's pants, pulling them off of his legs and letting them fall to the floor.

England gasped, and France's arms tightened around him, drawing him closer. England locked his lips onto his neck, his tounge brushing against the Frenchman's skin. France let out a moan, and England pressed his chest against his, reaching down into his pants. The Frenchman groaned loudly when England's thumb brushed against his thigh, rubbing against his erect member.

France couldn't stand it any longer. He pulled off his trousers, letting his underwear follow. A smirk spread across England's face as he knelt down, took France's member in his mouth, and started to suck. The Frenchman's moans were filling the room now; they were music to England's ears. He sucked harder, France's moans became louder, and his seed was soon released into England's mouth. He swallowed every drop before pulling away, standing up and attaching his lips to the Frenchman's.

"Mmmmgh," he moaned, wrapping his arms around France's shoulders and running his hand through his shoulder-length blonde hair. "I love you, France."

France's pulled off England's boxers, letting them fall to the floor. "Ah, _Angelterre_," he whispered. "I need you inside of me."

England's eyes widened. "W-what?" he demanded, suddenly flustered. "I... Are you kidding with me, Frog?"

France raised his eyebrow quizzically before bursting into laughter. "Are..? Are you _embarrassed_?" he teased. "_Angelterre_, do you not remember? We did it the other night!"

England's face turned bright red. "I-I know that!" he retorted. "I... I just... I don't think I'm okay with being on top..."

France's eyes widened, and he laughed again. "I.. I just can't believe zat _you're_ saying zhis, _Angelterre._ You _always_ vant to be dominant, _oui_?"

England looked away. "S-shut up, Frog."

France pressed his lips against England's, pushing his tongue into the Brit's mouth slowly. England moaned a little, wrapping his arms around France's neck. The Frenchman pulled away for a moment.

"_Angelterre_," he whispered. "I'm going to show you pleasure like none zhat you have ever experienced..."

England gasped as France's lips connected with his neck, his tongue brushing against his skin. France smirked, his lips moving up towards the Brit's jawline. England ached for him; he wanted to feel every last bit of this beautiful man leaning over him, every last drop of his very being. Sweat was making his hair stick to his forehead, even though France was still far from inside of him. His mouth still tasted of his lover's seed, but he didn't care.

France pulled away from England, pulling the Brit to his feet and laying him down onto the bed and curling up next to him. The Englishman gave him a look of disappointment.

"What?!" he demanded. "You can't seriously be tired already! We haven't even done anything yet!"

France smirked, kissing his lover on the forehead. "You nasty pervert," he said. "We're not doing anything like _that_ until you man up and get inside of me."

England's face turned bright red, and he sighed, wrapping his arms around the Frenchman. "Fine then, Frog," he said as they drifted off into sleep.

**Please review! I hope you enjoyed!**


	3. Chapter 3

England and France were curled up together on the couch, their arms wrapped around each other. France's long blonde hair tickled England's face, and he smiled, kissing his lover on the forehead. France laughed airily, his lips brushing against the Englishman's. Someone rang the doorbell, and England sighed.

"Come in," he called, immediately regretting it once he remembered that he was supposed to be keeping his relationship with France a secret. "Shit. Wait, _don't_ come in-"

It was too late. And who else could be the one to walk in on them but America? The younger country's blue eyes widened when he saw France and England together on the couch. "I-Iggy? W-what...?"

England jumped up. "America! No! It's not what you think!"

"Oh, _really_?" America, replied, backing away from the Englishman. "Because it _looks like_ you're getting all _lovey-dovey_ with France!"

England didn't know how to reply to that. "A-America," he said, gripping his kid-brother's shoulders. "Just... just promise you won't tell anyone, okay?"

America blinked, still taking everything in. "I..." he began, looking for the right words. "You know how I am when it comes to keeping secrets, Iggy..."

"America, I'm _serious,_" England insisted. "You can't tell _anyone_ about this."

America looked at the Brit in disbelief. "W-wha...?" he stuttered, shaking his head slowly. "I still can't believe you didn't tell me..."

"We didn't tell _anyone_, America," England reassured him. "We're the only ones who know."

Suddenly, the American pulled away from England. "Don't touch me!" he shouted, rubbing his arms. "We're _done,_ England! I thought we were friends - _brother's_ even! But true friends don't keep these kinds of secrets from each other!"

"Alfred, _wait_!" England pleaded, but it was too late. The younger country was already out of the door, running across the street with his eyes squeezed shut. England pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He flopped down onto the couch with France, who wrapped his arms around the Brit's chest in an attempt to comfort him. "Bloody Hell, America..."

"He's just surprised, is all," France reassured his lover, pulling the Englishman into his lap and nibbling his ear. "It's hard to imagine zat someone like _you_ vould turn out to like men. He'll get over it, _Angelterre_. Just give him some time."

"I'm just worried about what he'll do in the time it takes him to get over it," England explained, pressing his forehead against France's. "If the others found out, we'd never get a moment to ourselves."

France smiled, kissing his lover. "Might as well enjoy it while we can, _oui_?" he said, wrapping his arms around England. "That is, if you ever man up and top for once."

England shoved him gently. "Shut it, Frog."

France smiled and kissed him again. "If anyone else does find out," he whispered. "Vhe vouldn't let it tear us apart, _oui_?"

England closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around the Frenchman's neck and smiling. "Of course not, Frog," he reassured him. "Nothing will ever be able to tear us apart."

England and France walked into the World Meeting the next day, and a dozen pairs of eyes were immediately focused on them. Dread immediately filled both of them, but they ignored the dozensof eyes glued to them and found their seats across from each other. The meeting started, but the stares didn't go away.

After a while, England couldn't put up with it any longer. He slammed his fist onto the table, interrupting whatever Germany had been saying. Everyone stopped talking.

"Okay, what the bloody hell is going on with you wankers?" he demanded, glaring at his fellow countries. "What the Hell did you find out about us that was so horrible?!"

For a moment no one answered, just blinked in disbelief. Finally, someone in the back spoke up.

"So is it true, Engrand?" Japan asked. "This rumor that has been going around. Are you and France-_sama_..." His voice trailed off. They all knew what he was trying to say.

England glared at the floor. "Why do you even need to know?" he demanded. "Why do you even bloody _care_?! What difference is it going to make in your pathetic lives?!"

He shoved his chair away from the table, storming towards the door before the tears could start to fall. He sniffed, bursting into the hallway. Moments later, France followed him.

"_Angelterre_!" he called after his lover as the door clicked shut behind him. England turned around, tears forming in his eyes. France wrapped his arms around him, resting the Brit's head against his shoulder. "_Angelterre_, please don't cry. I cannot bear to see you like zhis."

"Someone's... g-going to see us... F-Francis," England replied between his sobs. France shook his head.

"Vhy do you care vhether zhey see us or not?" he asked, kissing the top of England's head. "_Angelterre,_ I love you. And I vant zhe entire vorld to be able to know zhat."

England looked up at the Frenchman, smiling weakly, his green eyes already tinted red from crying. "I just want to go home, Love," he replied quietly, taking France's hand in his. "Let's go."

France smiled, letting England lead him down the hallway and outside. _I don't think it'd be a good idea to return tomorrow,_ he thought. _But knowing Angelterre, he'll probably want to. And I can't let him come alone_.

Oh well. Whatever England chose to do, France would go along with. Even if it were the most ridiculous idea in the world. He wasn't the France he'd used to be, before he'd started a relationship with England. Now it was safe to love him, because England loved him back. And he wasn't going to let anything change that.

America glared at the TV, the carton of ice-cream in his lap getting emptier and emptier by the second. _I hate England, I hate France, I hate everything,_ he repeated over and over in his head as he shoveled the frozen dairy treat into his mouth. _I can't believe Ig - I mean England never told me._

He looked over at the note folded on the floor next to him, and the pain in his chest only worsened. He hated himself, too, although he would never admit it. He hated the words he'd written on that piece of paper, the insane idea that England would ever have accepted it. He hated France for ruining everything...

"Aaaaah!" he shouted, throwing the now-empty container against the wall. "I _hate _this! Why do I even feel this way?! Why can't I just forget that this ever fucking happened?!"

Someone knocked on his front door, and he sighed, standing and walking over to it. He opened it violently. "What do you want?" he demanded, his eyes landing on the blonde Frenchman standing on the other side of the doorway. The anger inside of him only grew. "Get away from my house, France."

"_Amerique_, I need to talk to you-"

"Just leave me alone, Francis!"

France sighed. "_Amerique_," he said, griping the younger country's shoulders. "You love _Angelterre_, don't you?"

America looked away, anger swelling inside of him. France seemed to get the message.

"America," he said, squeezing his shoulders gently. "I'm sorry-"

"'Sorry' isn't going to change anything!" the American snapped. Seeing the hurt in France's gaze, he allowed his tone to soften. "Just... don't tell England, please. It doesn't even matter now. I'll never have a chance with him..."

France wrapped his arms around America, pulling him into a fatherly embrace. America didn't return it.

"I hope you can stay strong, Alfred," France said. "Do your best to move on. Dwelling on your broken heart isn't going to fix it."

America sighed. "Just... Make sure I never walk in on anything like _that _again, please..."

France smiled and chuckled softly. "Of course, America," he said, pulling away and patting him on the shoulder. "Good luck."

America watched him cross the street to England's house. He was probably spending the night there. The thought of France and Iggy even _sleeping_ together made him feel sick.

He couldn't move on...

Not when that _Frog_ was getting it on with England!

**I hope you enjoyed it! Please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Okay, I understand that, by how the last chapter went, it seems like this is turning into a USUK fanfic. I DO NOT SHIP USUK. Not in the slightest, guys, although it was the first yaoi I'd ever read. I'm not hating on the ship, I just don't agree with it. Besides, FrUK is more kawaii, ja?**

**Oh, and this chapter is a little sad. Okay, very sad. But that's what makes it good, right? Right? Maybe? MAYBE?**

**...**

**I'm sorry...**

England was walking down the hallways of the building where the World Meetings were held when he was suddenly being pinned against the wall, a pair of lips being pressed against his. At first he thought it was France, even kissed them back for a moment, but France didn't have such short hair, and France didn't wear glasses. No, France was standing _behind_ this person with short hair and glasses, his blue eyes wide with pain and hurt and betrayal.

England pushed America away from him, hurrying towards the Frenchman and gripping his shoulders, searching his lover's eyes, desperate for the slightest hint of forgiveness.

"France, no, it's not what it looks like," England pleaded. "No, _he_ kissed _me_, I swear. No..."

He kept repeating it over and over. No, no, no, no, no. He knew that France wanted to believe him, that he'd just walked in on some terrible mistake, that England still loved him just as much as he had yesterday. But there was something nagging at the back of his mind, telling him that the shame in England's eyes was a lie, that his words were lies, that everything that had happened between them during the last few months had faded into lies.

France pushed England away from him, slowly and gently, as if he were made of broken shards of glass and were about to shatter. And he was. They both were. The hurt, the pain flowing through both of them, it was tearing them apart.

"_Why_,_ Angelterre_?" France asked, standing alone now. "It vhas all a lie, vasn't it? You used me.."

"No, France! No! I _do_ care about you! More than anything! You can't leave me!" England pleaded as the Frenchman started backing away. He reached towards him desperately, but France didn't return the action. He was already rejecting his touch. "France, no... I love you..."

But France couldn't hear him. He was too busy trying to make sense of the desperate thoughts swirling around in his head, mixing in with the beautiful memories of every moment he'd spent with England, every time their lips had touched, their fingers had entwined, every blissful night they'd wasted together. Forgetting the ring that sat in his pocket. It was all fading away, turning into lies, turning into the poison that would stop his heart.

France ran from England, out of the front doors, into the warm Spring air that could bring him no comfort. Trying to forget that he loved England, that England had betrayed him, trying to forget about England in general. But he couldn't forget about England, just couldn't abandon his feelings for him. He loved England too much, and he knew that, deep, _deep_ down, England loved him back.

England watched France run from him, anger and regret bubbling up inside of him. He turned on America, his fist colliding with the younger country's jaw. The American stumbled backwards, but England kept swinging at him, sobbing, his face bright red with anger and agony.

"You idiot!" he shouted, grabbing America by the collar of his shirt and shoving him roughly against the wall. "Why did you do it?! Why do you have to ruin _everything_?!"

America just stood there for a moment, leaning against the wall, a dead look in his eyes. The eyes of someone who was once so lively and energetic, they had somehow become the eyes of someone who had given up on everything.

"I'm sorry," he said feebly. "But I had to, just once. I didn't know that France would be there when it happened, I swear." He paused for a moment, summoning his courage before continuing. "I'm sorry that I ever fell in love with you."

England glared at him before letting him crumple to the floor. "You're an _idiot_," he said. "That's _incest_. I _raised_ you. It would never have happened."

America stayed on the floor, curling up into a ball and refusing to respond. He was shaking with sobs, but wasn't crying. No, he'd cried so much already, he doubted that he had any tears left to shed.

"Well, was it worth it?" England continued, his tone cruel. "Was kissing me worth ruining my relationship? Worth ruining my _life_?" America didn't reply, and England kicked him hard in the ribs. "I hate you, America. I hope you die in a hole somewhere. Italy's front yard, maybe."

England turned and went after France.

America lay on the floor, his glasses cracked, bruised and bleeding all over. _Was it worth it?_ England had demanded. _No, Iggy_, America thought. _It wasn't worth it. Not if you're not happy._

America tried to get up, and pain shot through him. He barely managed to sit up. _This pain will never compare to what I'm feeling inside,_ he thought, wincing as he dragged himself forward. He heard footsteps echoing down the hall, followed by a familiar voice as a dark brown gaze found him.

"America-_sama_!" Japan cried, hurrying over and helping his friend to his feet. "Are you arright? What happened?"

America shook his head. He couldn't rat out England. He'd brought this upon himself.

Japan sighed, letting America lean on his shoulder as he limped down the hallway. "Your seriousry hurt, America-_sama_," he said. "Whatever happened, just... just don't ret it happen again."

America nodded. He wasn't going to let today's events repeat themselves. He was ashamed, but also terrified. If this kind of pain was what came from being in love with someone, then he never wanted to be in love again.

England ran down the block, desperately searching for France. _Where is he? Where is he?_ he wondered, the need to find his lover all that was keeping his feet moving.

"I _have_ to find you, France," he whispered. "Just, please... please don't do anything stupid, Love."

It started to rain, but he ignored it, even though the water was causing his clothes to stick to his skin. He didn't know how much time had past, only that his worry grew and the rain came down harder.

England had almost given up when he found him. France, leaning against someone's wall, his light hair turned dark from the water, the rain shielding his tears. England ran towards him, wrapping his arms around the Frenchman before he could leave him again.

"I'm so, so sorry, France," he sobbed. "_America_ kissed _me_, I swear. I never planned for this to happen. I promise, I love you."

"_Angelterre_," France choked out. "For zhe slightest second, you... you were kissing him back..."

"I thought he was you, Love!" England explained. "I'm an idiot. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please, just _please_, try and find some way to forgive me..."

France looked into England's eyes, and smiled, pressing his lips against his, wrapping his arms around his waist and pulling him close. The Brit threw his arms around the Frenchman's neck, returning the kiss, returning the passion. After a few moments, France pulled away.

"I can forgive you," he replied quietly, leaning his forehead against his. "But only if you agree to marry me."

"Wha...?" England asked, a bit confused. His green eyes widened when he realized what the Frenchman was saying. "Oh my bloody... O-of course I will, Frog!"

France smiled, kissing him again and filling up with joy. He wasn't going to lose him again. No, England would be his forever.

America sat in the World Meeting room, staring blankly at France in England, who were no longer hiding their relationship. England had his head on the Frenchman's shoulder, and their fingers were obviously entwined under the table. They even kissed a few times, when they thought that no one was looking. But America saw everything...

And it made him sick.

_How can they do this to me?_ he demanded silently. He was still bruised from the other day, and was covered in Band-Aids. Not to mention his glasses had been broken in the 'fight,' - which couldn't _really _be called a fight - so he was practically blind until Japan could get him a replacement. But it wasn't just the _physical _pain that was hurting him... He still wasn't entirely over England, and seeing him and his new fiance being all 'lovey-dovey' with each other wasn't helping in the slightest.

_At least I have Japan to help me out,_ he reassured himself, playing with his thumbs. He'd told Japan everything, and he'd agreed to watch out for him from that point on. At least _someone_ was still on his side.

The meeting ended, France and England being the first two to leave. America sat there for a while, waiting for the others to just go away. Everyone left, except for Japan. He walked over to America.

"It's time to reave, America-_sama_," he said, clutching his forearm and pulling him to his feet. America didn't object, letting Japan lead him out of the door and down the hallway. They left the building, Japan leading the stumbling American down the block to his house.

They stopped at America's front steps, Japan unlocking the front door for his friend. It opened, and they stood there for a moment.

"Okay," America said. "Thanks. See you later, Japan."

Japan stood there for another moment before leaning over and kissing America. Right on the lips. The American blinked, and Japan pulled away, blushing furiously. "Yeah. see you rater, Arfred..."

America watched him walk away, walk away as if nothing had happened. _What just happened?_ he thought, still in a daze. He went inside. _Does Japan..._

No, it was too soon after England. And Japan _couldn't_ like him... It wasn't possible...

Was it?


End file.
